My father died of esophageal cancer.

For the final two years of his life, he could barely swallow anything. By the time he passed, he was nothing but skin and bones.

The first New Year after his death, he came to my mother in a dream.

"I'm starving," he said. "I just want to taste the thick-cut steak you used to make."

My mother believed it without question. That very day, she pan-seared a large platter of steak and carried it to his grave.

The next morning, she suffered a sudden heart attack and died on the spot.

Devastated, I handled my mother's funeral together with my husband.

That same night, my husband dreamed of my father as well.

"Chester," he said, "I haven't eaten in so long. I want your pâté, served with some strong liquor."

When my husband woke up, he bought the finest liver pâté, opened a bottle of single-malt whiskey, and went straight to the grave.

However, not long after returning home, he collapsed from acute liver failure. He was rushed to the ICU and died three days later.

I was on the brink of collapse myself. I left my daughter in the care of a close friend while I tried to handle the endless wave of tragedy.

That evening, my daughter never came home from school.

I searched everywhere, and finally, on the road to the cemetery, I found her.

She was clutching a bowl of spicy stew, several grilled sausages floating in the broth.

"Mom," she said, "Grandpa and I used to eat this all the time. I dreamed he said he was hungry."

I finally lost it. I knocked the bowl from her hands and carried her home.

That night, my father appeared in my dream once more.

"I suffered so much while alive," he said. "Have some pity on me.

"New Year's is coming. I want to come home for a meal. Make sure you cook fish."

I woke in terror. Holding my daughter, I sat before the three framed portraits for two full days without eating or drinking.

On New Year's morning, I realized she was no longer breathing.

Clutched tightly in her hand was a packet of spicy dried salmon.

I could not believe it.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my mother, her eyes red with worry, said she was going out to buy steak.

My dad lost his battle with esophageal cancer.

In the two years leading up to his death, he barely ate, withering away to just a skeleton.

The first year after he passed, he visited my mom in a dream.

"Honey, I'm starving. I'm craving the thick-cut steak you cook so well."

Mom took it to heart and cooked up a big plate of steak that day, setting it by his headstone.

However, come sunrise, she was struck by a heart attack and died right then and there.

My husband Chester and I, devastated by the loss, handled her funeral.

That same night, Chester dreamt of Dad too.

"Chester, it's been ages since I've had a bite to eat. I'm longing for your liver pâté and a shot of strong whiskey."

He woke up, bought the best liver pâté he could find, popped open a bottle of single-malt whisky, and dashed to the graveyard.

However, shortly after he got back, he was rushed to the ICU with liver failure and died three days later.

Near breaking point, I left my daughter with a friend and dealt with the endless goodbyes on my own.

That evening, my daughter did not come home from school.

I looked everywhere, and finally, near the cemetery, I found her.

She was holding a bowl of spicy stew with grilled sausages bobbing on top.

"Mom, Grandpa, and I loved this spicy soup. He told me in a dream he was hungry."

I lost it, spilled the soup, and took her home in tears.

That night, Dad came to me in a dream.

"Sweetie, I went through so much. Please, have mercy on me.

"New Year's is the day after tomorrow. I'll come home for dinner, make sure there's fish."

I woke up in a panic, clutching my daughter, sitting in front of three framed photos for two days straight, not drinking a drop.

Only on New Year's morning did I realize my daughter was not breathing anymore.

Her hand was still gripping a pack of spicy salmon jerky.

I could not understand it. After holding my daughter and breaking down in tears, the night ended in tragedy.

When I blinked my eyes open, I was back to the day my mom, her eyes brimming with tears, said she was heading out to buy steak.

...

Packing up a plate of steak just like before, my mom made for the door.

I let out a piercing cry: "Mom! We can't have steak today!"

The shock made her hands shake, her eyes welling up again. "Silvia, it's not for me, it's for your dad.

"He's been dreaming of it, starving for a taste of steak.

"Your dad's cravings are so strong, can't we honor his memory?"

I grabbed the steak from her under her stunned gaze, chopped it to bits, and flushed it down the sink.

"No steak for anyone today!"

"What's gotten into you? Your dad adored you!"

I sighed.

Kneeling before my mom, I clung to her legs, sobbing.

"Mom, I'm begging you, let's visit Dad on another day!"

Her heart was already weak, and losing Dad only made it weaker.

She could not stand up to my pleading and let me drag her to the hospital for a full check-up.

I found my best friend, Jane Harris at the hospital, and she got my mom the best heart meds available.

Jane took the day off to be with us through the exams.

"Mrs. Douglas has high blood pressure and an irregular heartbeat. She needs to stick to a light diet for a while.

"No high-cholesterol food, absolutely."

Mom always took the doctor's advice to heart.

Watching her shaken up like that, I could finally relax.

Once we were home safe, I made her promise not to go out and to ask me for anything she needed.

I still did not understand what caused the previous life's tragedy.

However, this time around, I was determined to keep my family off that tragic path!

It was not until the time of mom's accident in my previous life passed, and she was still sleeping peacefully, that I felt the weight lift from my chest.

My tension melted away, and exhaustion hit me like a wave.

I slumped onto the couch and slipped into a deep sleep.

The following day, I was jolted awake by a call from the hospital.

"Is this Mrs. Douglas's family? She had a sudden heart attack, and I'm sorry, we couldn't save her."

That could not be right!

Mom did not touch the steak, and she did not go near Dad's grave.

I raced to the hospital, only to find a body shrouded in white.

It was not until I spoke with the neighbor who shopped with Mom daily that I learned the truth.

May Wallace, the butcher who was usually so tightfisted, was unusually eager today, coaxing Mom to sample her home-cooked steak.

"Just try a bite, what harm could it do? If you like it, you can buy some!"

Mom mentioned her blood pressure was high lately and that she needed to cut back on meat.

However, she gave in to May's insistence and ate a piece of steak.

In just minutes, she had a heart attack and fell right there in the market.

Tears streamed down my face unchecked.

Why could I have stopped that? I wondered.

I stormed over to the butcher's stall for answers.

However, May and her family chased me off with a cleaver in hand.

"It's just a tasting, what's it to you? It was simply your mother's time!"

"They say your dad starved because of you, and now you play the grieving child!"

I was inconsolable until Chester came and led me away.

He took care of everything for the funeral.

However, haunted by memories of a previous life, I grabbed his arm, my voice shaking:

"Promise me, no matter what you dream about my dad, you won't follow his words."

Chester reassured me, thinking I was just overwhelmed with grief, and promised over and over.

"Don't worry, love, I never dream."

His words soothed me, and I finally felt a bit of calm.

Back home, I collapsed into sleep.

Waking up the next day, I found Chester bustling in the kitchen.

He looked out with a worried expression and asked, "Feeling hungry? Dinner's almost ready."

I gave a small nod and drifted over to the dining table, my feet barely touching the ground.

However, when I saw what was on the plate, it was like my blood turned to ice.

Liver pâté. Of all things.

"What the heck are you doing!"

I let out a shriek and lunged, knocking the pâté straight into the trash.

With eyes red and raw, I demanded, "Have you been dreaming about my dad again?

"How many times have I told you not to listen to him?"

Chester looked like he was struck by lightning, then his face crumpled into a mix of confusion and fear.

"Babe, don't freak out! I didn't dream about your dad, I just got a sudden craving, that's all.

"What's the big deal with liver pâté? Why are you freaking out so much?"

All the fear and grief I was bottling up came crashing down, and I just lost it, sobbing uncontrollably.

Finally, I spilled the beans about the dream where my dad asked my mom for steak.

Chester wrapped his arms around me, whispering words of comfort.

"You're just stressed, that's all. The New Year is around the corner. Let's think about where we can go to unwind, okay?

"It's just a dream. Forget it, and everything will be alright.

"I swear I'll lay off the pâté and booze for a while. If I dream about your dad, you'll be the first to know."

Things were quiet for the next three days.

I kept checking in, and Chester kept reassuring me, no weird dreams, nothing out of the ordinary.

He even tiptoed around the idea of seeing a shrink, but I was not having any of it.

Just when I started to relax, that's when it happened.

Chester did not come home one night, and his phone might as well have been a brick.

That old, uneasy feeling crept back in, and I bolted for the cemetery.

There he was, sitting by my dad's grave, a mouthful of pâté and a half-empty glass of whiskey, toasting the air.

My heart twisted in my chest.

"Don't you dare eat that! Spit it out, now!"

I dashed over, pounding on his back, desperate to make it stop.

However, Chester just looked up, his face streaked with tears.

"Dad's plight tore at my heart. In my dreams, he wept from hunger, craving nothing but liver spread. I couldn't stand it."

I slumped to the floor, utterly drained.

That night, Chester's vomiting turned severe, and we rushed him to the ER.

He was hit with a diagnosis of advanced acute liver cirrhosis, and after three days in the ICU, he took his last breath.

Jane came as soon as she heard, trying to offer some solace.

"You look wrecked, Silvia. Maybe Wendy could stay with me for a bit? Give you a chance to breathe."

I managed a wry smile and a shake of my head.

In my previous life, Jane's good intentions led to my daughter's disappearance after school.

In this life, I could not put her through that again.

"Jane, I appreciate it, but I'll hang in there."

After Jane left, I stood by Chester's body in the morgue, emotionless and empty.

My home was broken once more.

Why? Why did my dad do this to me? It was a riddle I could not solve.

I pulled Wendy out of school this term, keeping her close at all times.

The thought of losing her again was unbearable.

That was our final shot.

I would lay down my life to keep her safe.

Thankfully, Wendy was a gem, never a bother, always trying to lift my spirits.

However, today, she asked for something.

Her eyes were distant.

"Mom, I want to have spicy stew in grandpa's memory."

I staggered, my nerves wound tight.

My dad took everyone I loved.

Was my little girl his next target?

What did I do to deserve that?

Rage cut through the dread.

If there was no escape, then I would not run.

I inhaled deeply and reached for Wendy's hand. "Sweetie, let's go keep Grandpa company with some spicy stew," I said.h

I grabbed two takeout containers filled with spicy stew and tender slices of meat and led my daughter to my dad's gravesite.

One by one, I shoved the meat into my mouth, chewing with a fury as I stared down the smiling photo on his headstone, tears streaming down my face.

"Dad! I swear I've never let you down!

"When you got sick and couldn't eat, I was up at five every morning, making your liquid meals, sitting by your bed, cleaning you up.

"I drained my savings for your hospital bills, for all those supplements.

"Mom never complained, caring for you day and night, and Chester, he respected you just like his own dad.

"And Wendy, she made sure to visit and chat every single weekend!"

The tears were scalding, mixing with the spicy broth, salty and hot, making me cough and sputter.

"What's got you so upset, huh? Just let me have it!"

I shouted into the silence, "You want to eat, right? Well, eat!"

However, the cemetery gave no reply.

I went home with a heavy heart, my daughter in tow.

I sat on the couch, eyes wide open, all through the night.

By the time the sun rose, she was still sleeping soundly.

Then I started to laugh, a crazy, uncontrollable laugh, even as tears kept rolling down.

Three days later, the year was coming to a close.

Just like before, I dreamed of Dad again.

He was as gaunt as ever in the dream, his lips dry, moving without sound.

"My girl, life was so hard for me. Show me some mercy.

"It's New Year's, I'm coming home for dinner, don't forget to make fish!"

I woke up with a start.

Once the fog of sleep cleared, all that was left was resolved.

He just wanted fish, right?

Then that's what everyone would get.

I invited the whole family over and laid out a feast of fish dishes.

However, the mood was eerie; no one even reached for their forks.

Theodore Douglas, my uncle, cleared his throat, his eyes scanning the room before landing on me.

"You know, they say starving is the worst way to go.

"Before your Dad passed, he couldn't stop talking about wanting some fish, but you wouldn't even let him have that.

"Now he's gone, and look at you, throwing a whole fish banquet. Such a devoted child you are!"

The air crackled with sarcasm.

I pretended not to notice the sting in Theodore's words.

With a smile, I served him a slice of fish belly on his plate.

"Uncle Theodore, Dad needed money for his treatments, money you borrowed and never returned."

His face soured instantly.

I glanced around the room.

"And Aunt, that 'miracle cure' you got for Dad, three grand a bottle? Funny, it's only a hundred and twenty bucks when I checked."

"Oh, Silvia, why dredge up such things now, at New Year's?"

The chime of the New Year's bell rang out.

"It's New Year's, everyone. Eat up, for Dad's sake."

The relatives, anxious, I might say more, quickly changed the subject and dove into their meals.

Only when everyone seemed okay did I carefully place a boneless piece of fish in my daughter's plate.

"Sweetie, take your time eating."

I watched her, my breath caught in my chest.

She nodded, sweet as ever, and took a bite.

One bite, two bites.

However, her face flushed red.

Wendy clutched her mouth, coughing hard.

A trickle of blood ran down her chin!